


Safe Houses and Stakeouts

by miniaturefuries (rc13)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, shoot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-10-19 01:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10629540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rc13/pseuds/miniaturefuries
Summary: Shaw's POV and a different spin on the beginning of their relationship.





	1. Safe Houses and Stakeouts

The CIA safe house, that’s when it started. Since then, days and, well, especially nights, when you’re bored, you just can’t seem to stop your mind from drifting back to that night. Root wouldn’t quit her ridiculous flirting and you finally gave in…not so much as gave in but challenged her. And she may have won, but you certainly didn’t lose, that’s for sure. She expertly brought you to the edge of your pain threshold and teased five orgasms out of you over the course of those ten hours. Your body was marked up, raw and spent and ever since that night you can’t get her out of your head. But she wouldn’t let you so much as touch her. And now, all you can think about is _touching_ her, making her beg, making her moan and wiping that smug grin off her face.

It’s been a few weeks since that night and she’s been keeping you at arm’s length. No innuendo, sly comments, or sideways glances. She gives you a wide berth whenever the two of you are in the same space so there’s no incidental contact. It’s like she’s purposely avoiding you to drive you crazy and want her more. And it’s fucking working. You constantly ask Finch for updates on her whereabouts.  If she’s helping with an irrelevant number. You do your best to make sure you’re working with her or if you can’t, you’re listening in on the comms. You’re trying to play it cool when she’s around and feign disinterest and annoyance like before, but she knows. Fuck. It pisses you off because you deem it unprofessional to be so unfocused on the job. 

You knew she wasn’t into men pretty early on. You watch as she teases, taunts and tazes them on the regular. It’s almost amusing. She’s such a sadistic little flirt and they stupidly fall for it every time. The only person of the opposite sex she truly respects (reveres, really) is Harold.  Even her god is female.

It’s midnight on a Tuesday night and you’re on a stakeout in the middle of Brooklyn. Luckily, it’s late spring so it’s not cold (for once). Reese’s voice comes over your earpiece.  “How’re you holding up, Shaw? Any action?”

“Not a peep,” you reply as you take a sip of what is now cold coffee. You frown, opening the door to pour it out in the street. 

“Well, I’ll be there at 7am. Gonna check in with Finch before I relieve you.”

 _Of course you are, loyal guard dog_ , you think to yourself as you roll your eyes, but all you say is, “Ok.” 

“Don’t fall asleep.”

You scoff. “Please.”

It’s 2:00 am and the number’s lights went out about an hour ago. There’s nothing to keep you occupied so your mind starts to wander…right back to the place it’s been going every free second you’ve had for the past four weeks. What is it about her? Well, other than the mind-blowing sex…that’s a big part of it, but if you’re being honest, she’s never been far from your thoughts since she first threatened bodily harm with that iron.

You think about her…that pale skin, those slender wrists, how she walks - seductively swinging her hips, how hot she looks with two guns, her affect when the Machine is in her ear, the head tilts, devilish grins, horrible attempts at winking… Before you know it, your hand is wandering as well. You look around briefly. The street is dark and deserted. Your gun is within reach. John did tell you to stay awake…what’s the harm? You slink down in the seat a bit and undo your jeans. You’re already wet and ready. Just thinking about her makes you hot. You touch yourself, closing your eyes briefly, feeling Root’s hand in place of your own. Suddenly the passenger door swings open. Your eyes pop open and in less than a second your gun is pointing in the direction of your unwelcome guest.

“Now I know why you clean your guns so often,” she quips sarcastically.

You scowl at her as you lower your weapon and then methodically wipe the grip off with your t-shirt. “I could have shot you, Root,” you bite at her, jaw clenched. _I should have shot you_ , you think. You put your gun down and start to wipe your fingers off on your jeans, but Root grabs your hand, “Let me.  It’s the least I can do since I,” she glances down at your crotch, “interrupted you,” she says as pulls your fingers into her mouth and begins to lick and suck, not breaking eye contact with you. 

All you can do is stare. This is not helping your current situation. More moisture pools between your legs. You swallow audibly. _Goddamnit._

She sucks your fingers clean and you barely remember how to breathe. When she finishes, she leans over and with one swift motion hits the door lock, “Safety first,” and throws your seat back so suddenly you find yourself looking up at the ceiling. Before you can even protest, she’s ripped your jeans and underwear to your calves and her mouth is on you, sucking and nipping at your inner thigh.  She marks you up a bit, slowly working her way closer to where you want her.  “You’re so wet for me, Sameen,” she hums into you. 

Your pulse jumps and you let out a small moan as you watch her going down on you. She teases you with her tongue and when she finally puts her mouth on you completely, you cum quickly like a teenage boy on a first date. She tilts her head, grinning up at you, “Mmmmm.” Luckily, she doesn’t stop there.  She curls two fingers inside you, causing your breath to hitch. You bring your arm over your mouth, closing your eyes and biting down hard to keep yourself from moaning.  You’re not about to let her have the satisfaction. Your body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve ending hyper sensitive, your lower back damp with perspiration. She picks up the pace with her fingers, curling and thrusting while sucking you mercilessly.  You feel like you’re about to explode as you push against her. She keeps you on that edge for a while until you’re riding out your second orgasm. 

“One more, baby,” she says softly as she presses her lips into your hip bone.  She leans back and slides a third, then a fourth finger in, thrusting hard and deep, giving you the final burning relief you’ve wanted desperately for weeks.  You’re arching your back and grinding into her hand, muscles clenching against her until you come undone completely. Your entire body is trembling and sweaty and empty.  You collapse back into your seat as she carefully removes her fingers.  She pulls your forearm away from your face, gently inspecting the bite mark you’ve given yourself. Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything just places as small kiss on it, her eyes on yours the entire time. Then she grins at you, smugly, like she knew exactly how this was going to go from start to finish.  “I knew you had it in you.”  She’s still completely ensconced in your lap, looking up at you adoringly with those brown eyes.  _Fuck._

You’re still catching your breath, heartbeat slowing, wiping the sweat off your brow with your hand.  You watch her silently, waiting, not sure exactly what you want to say. You know that you don’t want this one-way street. You want to experience Root without all these games. But you don’t know how to tell her without sounding weak or foolish. You want her, but on your terms. Not hers. Clearly, the silence is making her uncomfortable, so she proceeds to fill it with her nervous, frantic energy. She sits back into the passenger seat, pulls the visor down, popping open the mirror, fixing her hair and reapplying lipstick.  You zip up your jeans and adjust your seat so you’re upright once again.  She hits the locks, hand on the door about to make her escape, when you grab her slender wrist, wrenching her back full force, spinning her around and on top of you.   She looks at you questioningly, like she’s not sure if you want to hurt her or…something else.  You grab her face in your hands, close your eyes and press your mouth against hers, forcing your tongue inside her mouth until she responds.  You taste yourself on her lips. You put a hand on the back of her neck so she can’t pull away, but she doesn’t.  Instead she leans in, sucking your tongue into her mouth and putting her hands in your hair, reciprocating in every way.  It’s the first real kiss you’ve shared with Root.  Everything else was her teasing you.  It’s long, it’s deep and wet and…a small moan escapes her.  It’s so hot, you’re sure you could easily go another round.  She bites down on your lip playfully, sucking it into her mouth.  When you finally part, both of you are breathless.  The smug, self-satisfied look is gone from her face; instead it’s replaced with something else entirely.  Maybe it’s a bit of shock, because the look on your face says you’re not playing.  And that kiss, that kiss wasn’t a tease.  That was the real thing.  She pulls away unsteadily, her self-assuredness gone.  Her guard down.  You see her and she knows it.  She reaches for the door handle again, but this time you touch her forearm lightly and she freezes as you say, “No more games, Root.”  She doesn’t look at you, merely nods in response, but before she leaves she turns back to you with a small smile and says, “Don’t fall asleep, sweetie.” Apparently, she was listening in on your earlier conversation with John.  _Stalker._

You scoff at her and can’t help but smile at that smart-ass comment.  But it’s clear that something’s shifted between the two of you. 


	2. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Aletheia...very loosely following the storyline...more like the happenings in between episodes...

You’re following a number when Root suddenly ambushes you and drags you into a storefront alcove.

“Miss me?” She doesn’t even give you a chance to reply, abruptly pulling you in for a kiss, hands groping your ass. Root’s constantly finding ways to accidentally-on-purpose touch you…in public. This includes, but is not limited to, pressing against you right before you step into a firefight, sliding her hands into your back (and front) pockets, running her hands up your forearms and tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears. It used to annoy you, but now you secretly enjoy it. Though you’d never tell her. Instead, you keep pushing her off you (in public, anyway), grabbing her wandering hands and squeezing them not-so-gently.

Root’s been gone for a few weeks. Japan, you think. Tracking down Arthur’s hard drives for the Machine after she escaped from Control. You were a little worried about her, but you’re not a fan of PDA or ambushes, for that matter, so you brusquely shove her away and give her a stare. “I’m a little busy, Root.”

Harold clears his throat in your ear as you realize the line’s still open. You can only imagine what’s going through his mind right about now. The sexually charged and acerbic comments the two of you exchange make situations incredibly awkward for anyone within earshot and to Root’s pleasure, it’s usually Finch.

Root is unfazed by your demeanor. She does that damn head tilt and gives you a seductive smile while placating Finch. “She says your number is fine, Harry. Rachel Meyers entered her apartment safely five minutes ago and is currently drinking a glass of wine. _Red wine_ ,” she adds emphasis to the last two words as if she needs to somehow convince you both that the number is safe.

“Gimme a minute, Finch and I’ll catch up with her,” you say before disconnecting.

“Very good, Ms. Shaw,” he pauses adding, “Glad you’re back safely, Ms. Groves.”

“Me, too, Harry,” she says as she grins down at you and proceeds to lean back in, pressing you up against the glass of a busy sandwich shop. “Don’t worry, Sameen. _She’s_ keeping an eye on her. Keeping her safe. No need to rush off.” 

You notice the bandage behind her right ear and you gently reach up and lift her hair away.

“24/7 connection, now,” she says like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

Definitely some screws loose. “Control?”

She nods.

Your military training taught you never to leave anyone behind. But you had to protect Finch. You went after her once he and Arthur were safe, but it was too late. Not good enough in your book. “What else?”  

She leans back a bit, rolls up her sleeve exposing her forearm. Needle tracks. Too many to count. She watches you closely while you examine them. “I have a matching set on the other arm,” she says lightly, like she was the lucky beneficiary of some sadistic party favor.

You know your face is unreadable, but inside, you’re fucking angry. Inexplicably, you reach out and thoughtfully touch the scars. This whole thing bothers you. You couldn’t help her. Couldn’t protect her. You push her away again. “Gotta catch up with my number,” you say as a you step back onto the sidewalk like nothing out of the ordinary just happened. Before you get too far, you half turn and see her staring after you like a lost puppy. You didn’t mean to hurt her, but you’re pretty sure you just did. “See you later?”

Root’s face brightens momentarily, “Sure.” You watch for a second as she turns and walks in the opposite direction.

As you walk away, you start thinking about this thing with Root. You generally don’t care what happens to people, but when you think about Control cutting into her, shoving needles in her arms, something breaks open inside of you. You don’t want anyone to hurt her. Ever. Well, besides you. But you’d never truly _hurt_ her. Maybe you _did_ shoot her once (if you’re being accurate, it was more of a graze) and knock her out with a pretty sweet right hook, but that was before. Things are different now. Root’s _different_. She’s brilliant and beautiful, fanatical and commanding, merciless…broken and devastating all at once. Unpredictable. Like surfing in the middle of a storm. As much as you get pulled under, you’re drawn to her no matter how badly you know it may end.

You know she hides some pretty deep scars, the kind that no one knows but her. Lately, it’s become evident to you that she’s trying to create the physical manifestation of her suffering on her own flesh. You don’t like it, but you don’t say anything either. You just try and break her fall, pull her back no matter how many times she steps in front of a bullet.

You finally reach your vantage point – an empty apartment across the street from Meyers’. You settle in at the window after rummaging around for something to eat. Supposedly, the couple that lives here is on vacation. That explains the nearly empty refrigerator.

You and Reese have been sitting on this number for the past two days. Still nothing. Rachel Meyers is an accountant for a little firm uptown, who recently stumbled across some information someone was trying to keep hidden. Some unreported income that was being funneled to another business. One that looks to have its hands in human trafficking. Rachel is the key to cracking this whole thing open and potentially putting a stop to something much larger. You think it might just be easier to grab her and take her to one of Finch’s safe houses, but you need to keep the status quo so you can draw out the perpetrator. The assholes who want to silence her are definitely people who deserve a little more than kneecap realignments.

A few hours later, Reese finally responds to your text. His voice comes through your earpiece.

“Sorry, Shaw, things got a little messy at the precinct today. I’ve got paperwork-“

“ _Reese,”_ you say his name like you’re threatening his life.

“I know, I know. Fusco’s on his way over to relieve you.”

“Well, he’s two hours late.”

“He stopped for dinner.”

“ _Really?_ ” You’re starving. Stale crackers and club soda don’t cut it.

“He has a kid, remember? Had to take care of a few things at home.”

You groan. “You totally owe me. I’m purposely sleeping late tomorrow.”

“Well, I did hear that Root was back in town-“

You shut off your earpiece so you don’t have to hear the rest of that sentence knowing exactly which direction he was headed. Your phone rings suddenly.

“Hey, lemme in.” It’s Fusco.

“You’re late,” you say unbolting the door. “Could’ve at least brought me some dinner.”

“Whadda I look like? A pizza delivery boy?”

You tilt your head, thoughtfully, “Nope. Pizza delivery boys dress better.”

“Funny, Shaw. Listen, I’m doing you and Wonder Boy a favor. I could’ve passed on this one. Been workin’ a crap ton of overtime this week and I’ve barely seen my kid. A simple ‘thank you’ will do.”

Reluctantly, you bite out the word, “Thanks,” as you let him in and show him the view of Rachel’s apartment. “Doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere, but keep me posted, regardless. Street’s been quiet. This one’s important.”

“Aren’t they all?”

“A lot more lives at stake on this one.” You pat him on the shoulder and shove the box of stale crackers into his hand. “Enjoy. I’m sure Reese will be here as soon as he’s done with his paperwork,” you say sarcastically as you pull the door shut behind you.


	3. Defensive tactics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No plot here...just a sex scene so skip if you're not into it. Not perfect, but needed to get it posted. Sorry for the wait!

You get back to your apartment late and find Root already on your couch, hair cascading over her shoulders, mouth slightly open, sound asleep. You don’t want to wake her. She’s most likely jet lagged, body still in another time zone. She barely gets enough sleep as it is. You opt, instead, for a cold beer and an extra hot shower. Your legs are stiff from sitting around too long and you missed out on a run today. You take your time under the scalding water, leaving your skin a dark pink.

You towel off lightly, throwing on a pair of shorts and your favorite Marines t-shirt, damp hair soaking into the collar. _Root hasn’t confiscated this one yet,_ you think to yourself _, but you definitely wouldn’t mind because damn if she doesn’t look fucking sexy in your t-shirts._ Glancing up, you find her leaning against the doorframe sleepy-eyed and silently watching, “Mind if I stay?”  

“Pretty sure I invited you, didn’t I?” you say, taking a sip of beer as you sit down on the bed, not paying her much attention. She walks over and casually relieves you of your beer before you can protest. You scowl up at her and she purposely ignores you, discarding the bottle and returning to the bed, placing her hands on your shoulders and straddling your hips. You don’t resist as she presses a finger against your sternum pushing you back against the mattress. She leans down, trapping you, forearms on either side of your head, hair framing her face, brushing against your cheeks. She brings her mouth close, whispering, “This ok, too?” as she sinks a sharp bite into your neck. It’s a sweet sting of pain. Her tongue flicks over the tender wound as she places a light kiss on it and pulls away, surveying her work, seemingly satisfied. She runs her fingers underneath your shirt, up your abs, caressing your breast, then squeezing your nipple sharply, a wicked little smile on her face as she does it. You arch up into her hand, your body desperate for her touch. You’ve missed her.

You lay back, waiting for her to continue, but it seems like she’s in the mood to toy with you tonight and you suddenly don’t have the patience. She’s slightly stunned as you grab her, one hand on her shoulder the other around her waist and flip her over onto her back. Root’s still smiling up at you as she accepts your authority. “Well, someone’s impatient,” she says, running a hand up your shorts and pinching your ass as payback for your move.

You flinch a little at the sting. “You’ll pay for that.”

“I hope so, Sameen.”

You grab a handful of her shirt and pull her up into a sitting position anxiously pressing her into a kiss. You purposely bite her lip, drawing blood. As you let go of her mouth, her tongue flicks over her lip, teasing the cut and smirking at you. You grab the sides of her shirt, scratching your nails across her ribcage as you pull it up and over her head, tossing it away. With one hand, you skillfully release her bra and discard it as well. Her hair is wild and loose from sleep, the natural look suites her. You intertwine your fingers in it while pulling her into you, the metallic taste of blood on your tongue. You kiss the smile from her lips eagerly, letting her know exactly how much you want her. It’s an apology for earlier, you realize. Wordless, intense and much more meaningful than anything you ever could have said. Words fail you, but never your actions. They define you. They prove your worth in this world. And you need her to understand just how much she belongs in it with you.  

You reach out, your hands are rough, calloused, matching your touch as you palm her breast and twist the nipple between your fingertips, abusing her flesh then placing your warm mouth on her skin. Your wet hair falls on her and she shivers into you, letting out a soft moan. Heat pulses through you as you grind into her, friction against her jeans. Surprisingly, she’s still letting you call the shots. It’s rare that you get to lead, so you take a moment, appreciating her sculpted flesh sporadically adorned with vicious scars. Beauty and destruction juxtaposed. So very Root. And you want every inch of her.

As you lean in again to kiss her, she relinquishes her mouth to you. Your body is anxious, but this feels so good, you could stay in this moment. Root grabs the hem of your shirt in her fist, urgently trying to pull it off, snaking her other hand beneath and cupping your breast. Desperate to feel her skin against yours, you draw back, raise your arms and allow her to remove the offending material. Taking a breath, you press your forehead to hers and the playful, teasing smile disappears. She’s finally here, with you. She spreads her fingers against you creating some distance as she eyes your naked torso approvingly, stroking your taut, muscled abs. She places her mouth on your nipple, biting down sharply. You let out a gasp and pull her back by her hair. She smiles up at you then buries her face back in to suck and kiss. She leaves a trail of nips and bites that reach your collar bone. For every mark, you reciprocate by digging into her shoulder blades, sure you’re drawing blood. As she bruises you, you rock against her hips, the pain and pleasure building you up slowly.

Root fumbles at her pants, her hands grazing over your shorts in an effort to gain access. “Let me,” you say, voice filled with arousal. You push her back down and begin unbuttoning. You slide a hand straight down feeling her slick heat beneath your fingers. Root lets out a sigh and closes her eyes. You rub slowly, watching her face flush, lips part. A gasp of protest escapes her as you suddenly abandon your ministrations. You stand, bring her hips to the edge of the bed, yanking her jeans and underwear off. Pressing your lips against her bare thigh, you bite into the muscle; she flinches, trying to pull away but you hold her firmly. You work your way up her hip bone avoiding the area she wants you most. Now you’re teasing, toying with her. You weren’t planning on it, but putting her on edge makes you hot and you know she’ll make you pay for it later and in the best way. Besides, you owe her for being away for so long. She needs to be reminded of what she’s been missing. You run your hands up her calves and cup the back of her legs, squeezing, holding her in place while you continue to sink your teeth into the tops of her thighs leaving bruises. You want her to have a reminder.

Root’s propped herself up on her elbows and she’s watching you adoringly (you almost roll your eyes), her eyes filled with lust, lips trembling in anticipation and you know without touching just how wet she is. There’s a slight smile on your face as you put your mouth on her warm center and she lets out a satisfied sigh. She runs a hand through your hair, fingers clenching in reaction to every flick of your tongue. Root tightens her legs around your shoulders, you hear her breath quicken, she’s soaked and pulsing and grinding into you, you know she’s close. You shut your eyes and focus on her every movement, quickening your pace and bringing her to a sweet climax as you hear her cry out. She’s unabashedly vocal which shouldn’t be shocking really, since she never shuts up even the most tense and awkward situations outside of the bedroom. Her muscles release, but she’s shaky with adrenaline.

Placing a hand on her abdomen, you feel her wildly rapid heartbeat. You’re not quite done with her so you gently lick her folds, breathing her in, tasting her. She squirms beneath you as you kiss her most ticklish area (outside of the most obvious one). Oddly, it’s her inguinal ligament (yes, you are a nerd and you still know every tendon, bone, organ and artery in the human body). You smile and look up at her through your eyelashes as she playfully nudges you from the area.

Her breathing slows, so you make your way up her body, kissing the soft flesh just above her pubic bone. As thin as she is, she still has a small mound of flesh on her belly that you can sink your teeth into and relish. You glance up again. She’s still watching, captivated. You lick and kiss each breast, pulling at her nipples with your teeth, grazing across her clavicle and burying your face into her neck and sucking hard, hoping she’ll let you leave a mark. You bite and pull on her earlobe, kiss her cheek and just as you put your mouth on hers you thrust two fingers deep inside her and close your mouth over hers as she grunts and moans at the unexpected access. You keep your mouth on hers as you drive in, again and again. She clenches around your fingers, squeezing her legs and grinding against you, holding onto your mouth as you lick inside keeping pace with your fingers, her taste still all over your face. You slide in a third finger pushing against her g-spot. She’s writhing beneath you, in stride with you, as you bring her to the edge until she finally breaks apart, calling out your name as she comes. The way she says your name…something unfurls within you, making you feel a warmth in your chest…it…it almost hurts. You can’t quite explain it or understand it. But, it makes you feel protective…like…you don’t want Root to be alone again. Ever.

As she relaxes her grasp, you slowly remove your fingers and roll onto your back attempting to catch your breath and slow your own heart rate. You’re both silent for a while, lying next to each other, enjoying the moment. Placing a hand on your stomach, she rolls onto her side to face you, propping herself up on an elbow. A huge, genuine smile breaks across her face as she stares down at you. She’s floating, giddy, “Sameen,” she breathes, “mmmm…that was—”

“Don’t ruin it with words, Root,” you say, smothering her mouth with a kiss before she can finish the sentence. It’s a lazy, sloppy kiss that lasts as long as you deem necessary to keep her from speaking. _Defensive tactics_ , you muse. When you finally part, she slides her hand up your shorts. “Handcuffs or zip ties, sweetie?”


	4. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief reference to child abuse. Please don't read if it's upsetting/triggering.
> 
> Please comment! Let me know what you think!

It’s late. You’re both exhausted from the evenings activities and on the edge of sleep. Root is soft and supple tucked up against you. She’s safe and content and so are you.

“Knife wound?” she asks as she brushes her fingertips lightly over your stomach, tripping over a faded scar.

“Scalpel.”

She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t press you.

“Appendix. I was nine,” you share.

“Is that when you decided you wanted to become a doctor?”

“Yeh,” you say, nodding thoughtfully and thinking back on the moment. It seemed so easy, so clear to you then. “Dr. Zamora. He was different. Didn’t treat me like a kid. He took my questions seriously, explained the procedure in detail. Even showed me the surgical instruments before my anesthesia. After the incision healed, he let me remove my sutures.”

You remember Dr. Zamora, his patience, his intellect. _He hands you a pair of surgical gloves, laying out the instruments on the metal tray. Snapping on the gloves, they feel cold and tight against your skin. He shifts the lamp, illuminating the area. You lean forward, slightly. It’s a bit awkward but you’re focused, steady. You carefully snip each suture. Using the forceps, you gently pull each strand feeling the tug as your skin puckers against the thread, reluctant to let go. When you finish, you run your finger over the angry, pink incision – a sharp contrast to your otherwise smooth tan skin. Dr. Zamora hands you an alcohol wipe to disinfect the area. You remember thinking how cool the scar looked and couldn’t wait to show your mom. Little did you know then that stitching yourself up would one day become common practice. And your collection of scars, daunting._

You look over at Root. She’s grinning at you. “What?” You realize you stopped talking and had become fully immersed in your own thoughts.

“Must be a good memory.”

“I guess,” you shrug a bit, suddenly uncomfortable. Your childhood dream unfulfilled.

Root senses your mood shift and changes the subject, teasing, “Little Sameen Shaw…I’m sure all the _girls_ and boys had crushes.” She leans down and kisses the scar.

You scoff. “I didn’t fit in.”

“Well, I guess we had that in common.”

You’re both silent for a while. Root’s fingers are endlessly exploring your body as if she’s expecting it to reveal its secret history to her.

“Ever get stitches when you were a kid?” You’re not exactly sure what prompted you to ask. Talking isn’t really your thing, but maybe you’re a little curious. You suddenly wish you could take it back when you see Root visibly hesitate, reluctant. She averts her eyes, instead focusing on her hand caressing your leg trying to distract herself and you. The smile fades from her face and an imperceptible frown takes its place, as if she’s trying to keep a memory from unearthing itself. The mask comes down, her affect suddenly becoming flat, detached.

Root quietly traces lazy patterns against your skin. She sighs and decides to share, probably because you did. “My mom…never had the best taste in boyfriends.”

“ _Derek_ ,” she says his name like it’s a disease, “smelled like stale beer and cigarettes.” Looking visibly ill from the memory, she wrinkles her nose and rolls onto her back, disengaging from you completely. You’re looking at her, but she refuses to make eye contact, instead, staring at the ceiling. “He was a bastard when he drank.” She turns away, curling up on her side and facing the window.

“I found ways to redirect his anger away from her and toward me.”

You listen patiently. You've never seen this side of Root and you recognize the significance of her sharing this with you.  

“He slammed me into a door. Sliced my head open. The bleeding wouldn’t stop so I needed stitches.” She pauses, “I was ten.”

You picture a ten-year-old Root - skinny, gangly limbed with freckles, brown hair, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt being slammed against a door. He could easily have killed her. Anger pulls at you as the scene burns itself into your brain. People who hurt kids don’t deserve to breath. “What happened to him? After?”

She snorts. “Nothing. My mom was too afraid to say anything.” A wicked laugh suddenly escapes her and she sounds almost gleeful when she adds, “But a few years later, they found child pornography on his work computer. Lost his job, had to register as a sex offender. He was being harassed so badly he had to move out of the state. Last I heard he was in prison for selling meth. Inmates really dislike pedophiles.”

You smile to yourself as you’re reminded that Root is more than capable of fighting her own battles. A silence washes over you both and it’s a few minutes before Root starts to pull away. “Got better things to do, Root?”

She looks over at you. “Is that an offer, Shaw?”

You don’t want her to leave, not like this. You want to bring her back from whatever dark place she’s gone. “Stay.” The word tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it. You’ve never actually asked her to stay before, you’ve always just relied on sex.

She stiffens a bit, holding her breath, a blank look on her face. She turns away, slowly collecting her things. “I need to…pick something up,” she replies, her back to you.

“At 2am?” you ask, a little angry.

“No time like the present, Sameen.” She tilts her head slightly, like she’s listening to a tune no one else can hear.

You almost forgot the Machine has 24-hour access now. You’re not necessarily a fan.

“She says the people who are trying to silence Rachel Meyers will be attempting to abduct her when she heads out for work this morning. You and Reese need to be there.” She finishes pulling on her clothes and gives you a half-hearted smile before she heads for the door.

You hear the lock click into place as you collapse back onto your pillow, exhausted. Root shared a sliver of her past, dredged up a painful memory and you’re not exactly sure what to do about it. You’re certain you should have done more, said more, but what? You turn your thoughts to something more practical as you contemplate the numerous ways you would inflict pain upon _Derek_ if you ever crossed paths. A few broken bones might be a good place to start, you muse as you finally drift off to sleep.


	5. Pancakes and Squirrels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> too short to be chapter...an in-between

The next morning you and Reese nail the assholes trying to silence Meyers. Sadly, Reese won’t let you shoot them because you’re turning them over to the NYPD for interrogation. The best you can do is land a few solid punches and maybe a knee to the abdomen…or the groin…accidentally, of course. With the suspects in custody, you head back to your (Finch’s) car intent on getting food in your stomach ASAP. As you approach, you see a certain brown-haired hacker leaning against the car door, arms crossed, clad in her usual leather jacket.

“How’s your day, Shaw?”

You grumble, not forming any coherent words, because (a) you don’t want to talk right now (b) you’re starving (c) you haven’t had any coffee yet (d) you definitely don’t want to talk right now. All of these things Root must know because of her annoying cyber-sidekick, but somehow, she continues trying to talk to you, her mood from the previous evening seemingly non-existent. You’re still pissed that she bailed on you. Maybe you were a little worried about her. And these days, you hate to admit, but you feel kind of cheated when you don’t wake up next to her. You’ve discovered the perks of morning sex. Something you’ve never had before Root…because well, you never stuck around long enough to be there in the morning.

You stare her down until she moves away from the door allowing you entry.

“Where you headed, sweetie?”

Exasperated eye-roll. “Food.” You shake your head. _How does she not know this?_

Root plops down in the back and drops some kind of breakfast bar into your lap.

You grab it and toss it right back at her. She dodges rather skillfully for a non-athlete. “Real food.” You pause and then add, “And coffee. _And this isn’t Driving Miss Daisy._ Get your ass in the front seat like a normal person.”

Root slides in next to you in the front seat. “Have you been thinking about my ass all morning, Sameen? I knew you had a fixation.” She tilts her head and gives you that devilish grin that she knows you can’t resist.

You slam on the brakes unexpectedly, throwing her forward in her seat. “Sorry,” you shrug, hardly apologetic. “Squirrel. Came outta nowhere.” This woman. She is infuriating _-ly_ … _fucking sexy_. Damnit. If you weren’t so hungry you’d definitely be doing something to her ass right now.

Root is thankfully silent the remainder of the trip as you navigate the city traffic to your favorite breakfast spot. You consume a stack of pancakes, a side of bacon and an egg while Root sips on a cup of tea. She’s sitting across from you so she has a full-on view of you shoveling food in your face and it’s not a turn-on. She won’t look at you while you’re eating so you feel like you’ve accomplished something at least. Once you’re satisfactorily sated, she starts talking again. You don’t look at her as you run your finger along the outside of your coffee cup.

“Use your words, Shaw,” she says a bit condescendingly, probably to bait you into talking about what’s bugging you.

“You should seriously consider increasing your calorie intake,” you reply, flatly. You’re not about to give her the satisfaction of knowing exactly how much you think about her so you feign indifference hoping she’ll let it drop. For now, anyway. Maybe you feel a little like an asshole, but you don’t want to have this conversation in the middle of a diner.

She sighs audibly and starts to reach for your hand across the table, but freezes as you make eye contact. She pulls away, defeated. She knows you don’t like PDA. Or touching for that matter. Unless it’s leading to sex.

The waitress drops the check at your table and you leave momentarily to pay at the counter. When you turn back, Root’s gone.


	6. Merit Badges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven't updated this in way too long...dedicating most of my time to SYBG, but I have a few things to add to this which I hope to get to over the next week or so.

“We can do this the easy way or we can do it my way,” you calmly explain as you twist his palm behind his back while leaning him over the edge of the building. He whimpers. You roll your eyes at Reese. _Too_ _easy_.

John chimes in, “I suggest you pick option A. Her way is not pleasant. For you at least.”

Matthews quickly gives up the location of the gun exchange. 

“I strongly recommend you getting out of town as soon as possible,” John says clapping him on the back roughly and almost sending him flying forward and off the edge of the building. Matthews scurries to the rooftop door without looking back.

Later that day, you’re perched atop an abandoned building near the docks staring down the scope of a sweet, new McMillan CS5 that you’ve been itching to try out. You look down the scope, align the reticle and adjust the eye relief, scanning the area for blind spots and escape routes. Finally, you’re satisfied with your position and settled in with the weapon, your mind processing multiple moves and possible reactions. This is your idea of fun. No emotion involved, just cold, hard logic and physical ability. It temporarily takes your mind off Root.

These days, a small piece of your mind seems to always be preoccupied with her. Instead of the absolute focus you’re used to, part of your brain is constantly locked in on her, keeping track of her every movement and mannerism. It’s not distrust. No. If anything, you, for some reason, trust her implicitly. You understand her motivations and her unwavering commitment to her cause. And even the extreme actions she takes to protect it. It’s almost admirable. That you get.

It's a strange, instinctual need to protect her. You’re not exactly sure what inspires it. You’ve been protective of certain people in your life…Cole, the guys in your unit, a girl at your school being bullied. This instinct is a bit at odds with your presumed personality disorder. You don’t care for most people, but some set off that instinct like a warning bell. And Root sets it off the loudest and deepest inside you. The question is, why? You have a feeling you may never find the answer to that question. You sigh tapping on your comms, “All set, Reese?”

“Yeah, Shaw. How’s your nest? Cozy?”

“It’s not the Ritz-Carlton, but it’ll do,” you reply sarcastically. “Fusco?”

“He’ll move in with his unit right after I signal.”

Now, all you can do is wait. You’re covering Reese so he doesn’t get ambushed busting up this gun shipment. You’re looking forward to wrapping this up quickly because you’re starving (of course). But you welcome the opportunity to shoot someone.

Roughly an hour later, a crew rolls in with the truck exactly where you expect them. Fifteen minutes later, a black Mercedes Sedan with tinted windows appears. You raise your eyebrows at this…not quite sure who this buyer is because Reese was told it was a local gang making the purchase. No way a gang would roll up with a single vehicle and no back-up. The driver steps out - a chauffeur. You watch him open the passenger side rear door for the buyer. An all too familiar looking brunette slides out of the back of the car and immediately raises your blood pressure. “What the hell?” you mumble under your breath.

Reese chimes in your ear, “Shaw, what the hell is this?”

“What makes you think I have any idea what she’s up to, Reese?” You’re running through possible scenarios of why Root would in fact need a shipment of assault rifles. Guns that you know should be taken off the street, but it’s clear that Root has other plans for them. _Her god_ only knows what. “Better tell Fusco to stand down.”

Reese is pissed. He practically growls through your earpiece. “Your girlfriend better have a good explanation for this.”

“She is _NOT_ my girlfriend,” you reply angrily. You’re still staring down the scope, trying to stay focused and not let your anger (Root) distract you. You watch as her chauffeur, an Asian guy you’ve never seen before, hands over a briefcase full of cash for them to inspect as Root examines a case of weapons. You spot her seductive little smile a mile away. You’ve seen it so many times before when she’s conning or manipulating someone. You’re just hoping they don’t underestimate her and flip this deal. The exchange is made and the dealer leaves. Root's driver takes the truck full of guns, leaving her leaning against the Mercedes. She cuts through on your comms, “You can have Fusco arrest them now, John.”

Reese is furious. “Little difficult to do when we don’t have any EVIDENCE, Root,” John snaps back, annoyed.

“Oh, John, silly me, I almost forgot. There’s a kilo of cocaine in the trunk of the gang leader’s car. So, although I need to borrow these guns for another rather, much more important reason…you can still earn your merit badge with a drug bust. Ok?”

You smile a little at her sarcastic retort, even though you understand and legitimize Reese’s anger. But again, you trust Root. And you know there’s a good reason she’s taking these guns. At this point, you’re more interested in finding out why then arguing about something that’s already done.

John’s in the process of making the arrest with Fusco and you’re clear to leave, you know, but you want to make sure Root isn’t getting herself in over her head, which, is pretty much all the time at this point. She’s still leaning against the car when you finally reach her. Clearly she's been waiting for you.

“Fill me in, Root.”


	7. Take Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you like it - tell me! And even if you don't...tell me!

“I just need a small favor, Shaw.”

“What?”

“I need to borrow your muscle,” she smiles, eyes raking over you, “and your gun for this next exchange.”

“Will I get to shoot someone?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Root grabs you by your hoodie, pulls you into a kiss and then abruptly pushes you back against the car. “Think fast. Because I need a driver, too.” She tosses the keys in the air. You grab them instinctually. She slides into the back seat, waiting. You shake your head, put the gun case in the trunk and take your place in the driver’s seat.

* * *

 

You land a solid left jab to your opponent’s ribs. You drop quickly avoiding his reach and follow up with a leg sweep that doesn’t completely take him down. You roll out of it, adjust, body slick with sweat, hands back up in the defensive position. This is how you work out your frustrations. All your focus, one target. Forward. Jab, jab. He lands an overhand to the side of your head. You back up, out of his reach. Shake it off, fuel your anger. He’s taller, heavier, has a longer reach…but that’s typical. All of these so-called advantages actually work in your favor. When you’re in close, bigger opponents have a harder time landing a solid punch. And they’re usually slow as fuck. You’re always considered the underdog because of your size. But you’re small and agile. And strong as hell. They underestimate you. It’s pathetic. They don’t realize your extensive training until it’s too late. And you quickly make them regret their assumptions.

You land a round kick, he stumbles backwards. There’s no training gear today expect grappling gloves so every mistake leaves a mark. Your ribs are bruised from your lack of focus early on, but you’ve made him pay, breaking his nose, bruising his eye. This guy’s pretty good, but you can see his weaknesses. He’s favoring a knee, ever so slightly. And he has limited range of motion in his left shoulder. You’re already plotting your moves. No one has been able to take you down yet. You’re not about to let anyone start today. He lands a few quick jabs to your torso. You feel his power. He’s no longer holding back like he was in the beginning. For some reason, men always think they’re going to hurt you. They don’t like hitting women. But after you land some burners, they quickly change their minds, get angry and retaliate. It’s amusing.

You’re about to take him down when you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“Never was a big MMA fan, but I certainly see the _attraction_.”

Temporarily distracted, you see her out of the corner of your eye. Your opponent doesn’t hesitate and lands a round kick to your head, sending you flying backwards into the cage. You’re momentarily shaken. You feel blood tricking down your face. You stretch your jaw, check your teeth with your tongue. Nothing’s loose. Wipe your brow, shaking off the trainer. Your opponent thinks you’re done, but you raise your hands and walk back to the center of the ring. He shakes his head in disbelief, but moves back in with his hands ready.

Pissed that you were distracted by Root, you know its’s time to finish this. You land a solid cross to his jaw, knocking him down, then apply a knee bar move hyperextending his bad knee, effectively putting him on the mat and causing him to tap out. You release him and tap gloves, but you’re pretty sure he won’t get back in the ring with you anytime soon as you see him limping off.

“Nice moves, Shaw.” Root’s waiting outside the cage, but you effectively ignore her and go directly to the locker room. You’re about to peel off your sweat soaked shorts and sports bra when Root appears, positioning herself conveniently in front of your locker. You roll your eyes. “What do you want, Root?”

“She just wanted me to thank you for helping earlier. I was able to secure the prototype for an advanced microchip that She needs.”

“Uh…you’re welcome, I guess,” you mumble uncomfortably. You don’t need to be thanked for doing your job. “How’d you find me, anyway?” You never bring your phone here, so you’re not sure how she tracked you. She couldn’t have followed you. You left her in mid-town two hours ago. This is the only place no one knows about. But not anymore apparently.

Root looks away, half shrugs. “Sometimes I ask Her to keep an eye on you.”

“Why?” you ask without making eye contact.

“I worry about you, Sameen.”

“I can take care of myself, Root.”

She reaches out, lightly touching the cut above your eye, “Hmmm, I can see that.”

You shove her hand away, irritated.

Taking that as her cue, she abruptly pushes herself off the locker and starts to walk out.

Frustrated, because you need to get something off your chest, but you can never find the words, you smash your fist against the locker. “I didn’t…”

She stops, hand on the door, silent.

“I didn’t like it when you left…”

She’s motionless, waits for you to continue.

“…it didn’t feel right.” You hate this shit. Talking about stuff. It’s so annoying, but it _bothered you_ and you can’t figure out why. Root shared personal things with you and it didn’t feel weird. It felt kind of… _normal_. You didn’t want her to leave. You really don’t know what this thing is…but you do know that being with Root makes you feel good. And it makes you feel like shit when you’re not sure where she is late at night.

Root doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, you hear the lock click on the door. Before you know it, she’s shoved you up against the locker and she’s pulling your shorts down, pushing a knee between your legs and simultaneously pulling at your sports bra. You lift your arms for her. Her mouth is all over you, she’s grinding against you and you’re trying to catch your breath. “Let me shower.”

“Mmmm…no…I like you all sweaty.” She licks a path up your neck. “Salty,” she smiles at you.

“You’re so weird,” you say, barely getting the words out she’s making you feel so good. If this is her way of apology. You accept.

She kisses your bruised-up face, then drops to her knees and buries her face between your legs. Her mouth on you, tongue circling your clit. You’re soaked, swollen…Her tongue moves faster, a steady rhythm, building you up. You’re getting close, you rock against her, trying not to let the moan escape your lips.

You’re biting your lip, she rubs a finger along your perineum, gently pushing a finger into your ass. The pressure in and out, as she works your clit…you can’t wait any longer, you push against her harder, faster…suddenly you’re coming. A loud moan escapes you as you say her name. This is the first time you’ve called her name out during sex. You’re breathing hard, trying to get your pulse to slow down. She looks up at you, a smug grin on her face as she wipes her chin. You roll your eyes, but…damn if she doesn’t look hot. You pull her up and kiss her, tasting the salt on her lips. She kisses you back, tongue thrusting, breathing you in. Then she pushes a hand against your chest, caressing your skin. “I hate to eat and run, Shaw, but I have an appointment.” You shake your head at her corny comment, but can’t help but be disappointed she’s leaving so quickly.  

“Duty calls,” she says leaning over the sink, washing up. As she swings the door open, she looks back at you, “Next time…,” she pauses, you know she’s talking about the other night. “I’ll stay.”


End file.
